Irene Who?
by silver9tails
Summary: The crime scene and Scotland Yard is getting turned on it's head and all because of 1 woman. So who is Irene and what does that have to do with Sherlock Holmes? HG/IAxSH/SS


Disclaimer: Obviously I don't own anything. This is my first time writing both a cross-over and a Sherlock fic so be kind and feel free to offer constructive criticism or praise.

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Irene _Who_?

Detective inspector Lastrade look at the scene in front of him and sighed. It was days like today that made him regret ever knowing the name Sherlock Holmes. He just wished that he wasn't so brilliant or that he never had cases what he needed Sherlock's abilities.

He leaned against the wall of the warehouse careful not to disturb the caution tape in the doorway next ten and watched as Sherlock and his pet Dr. Watson moved around the room examining the most inane details of the scene Honestly, what was the point of licking his fingers to determine airflow if the guy was hit in the back of the head twice with a hard object.

Lastrade reached up to put a hand through his hair and realized how many times he both sighed and ruffled his hair. The man was just so frustrating! And yet he couldn't wish that Sherlock would just be wrong one day because that would mean that his cases would not be solved, or that the wrong person would be put in jail. It probably didn't help his case that Anderson was the medical examiner and he and Sherlock had been bating each other the entire day.

" Rough day?" Lastrade jumped and spun around quickly. He hadn't heard her come up behind him at all. He made to glance over quickly but ended up staring. "Must be tough getting thrown out of your own crime scene by an ego like his." She continued to muse with a slight smile. "He looks the type who wouldn't explain anything and then call everyone dunderheads. No, maybe not that, but insipid fools and question how you live with your plebian minds." Lastrade flinched at how close to the mark this stranger was. It was almost Holmes-esque the way she analyzed people. Creepy.

He didn't know who she was, but she was definitely a looker. Her chestnut curls fell just to her collar bones and obscured the collar of her brown leather jacket. Her emerald green top and jeans clung to her hourglass figure like a glove. When he is finally able to bring his eyes up, he noticed light natral makeup and mirth-filled knowing chocolate eyes before he looked away quickly.

Lastrade gave an awkward cough to clear his throat and they both pretended like he wasn't checking her out for the past 5 minutes. "And you are…?" Lastrade asked while trying to save face. The last thing he needed was someone new tampering with his crime scene. Plus it was good he could to know the name of this new suspect because who randomly walks into a warehouse, well minus Sherlock.

"Ah sorry about that. Terribly rude of me." She apologized but her tone sounded more amused than sincere. "The name is Irene and I'm a bounty hunter of sorts. I tracked my idiot target to the around this area and is looking for any sign of him. Then I saw your police cars and figured he was A.D.D. enough to follow the shiny lights." She chuckled to the hidden meaning that only she understood apparently.

Lastrade looks like Christmas come early._ Here_ was a clear suspect. The felon Irene was chasing was probably still in the area and the one who killed the guy. The poor sap was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was killed for seeing where whoever it is was hiding. Irene saw the look and chuckled to herself but shook her head side to side.

" Nah-uh. No chance. No way. He's no killer. Mind if I look around the scene? I assume you took all the crime scene photos that you needed." The crestfallen Lastrade nodded idly while looking to make sure that Sherlock didn't do too much damage. Every night even though Lastrade was any was looking her way and took a couple of steps further into the warehouse.

She then paused to look over her shoulder and decided to add with a vague gesture to Sherlock, "Oh, by the way, does that guy regularly give you a hard time? If you want some amusement you can gather up the rest to your team and watch what I'm about to do. I tend to hold my own with people and he looks like he deserves it. Plus, more people means that I can corner my pre… target a little bit better" She said with a wicked but playful smile.

Okay color Lastrade curious. He watched her take two more confident strides and then waved for Donovan and a couple other men (not Anderson. _That _was a headache he didn't need) to follow him and into the warehouse behind her. He wasn't sure what Holmes had to do with her bounty, but he wasn't going to wait and be left behind to try and figure it out. Sherlock had a reputation at the precinct for being a genius and a complete and utter arse and always right. People stopped trying to argue with him because they always ended up looking like a fool, so anyone who wanted to pick a fight with Holmes and walked to it confidently was either a genius themselves, crazy or bigger idiot than any of his men… or all of the above.

Lastrade sighed again. Knowing his luck, he had money down on crazy as at least part of the answer. He hoped this wasn't going to blow up in his face. Who knows? Maybe he would get some cheap entertainment now that Holmes is brain wasn't directed against him.

And then he watched as Sherlock turned away from the outline of the dead body on the ground and Irene punched him in the face knocking him to the ground. Yep, definitely blowing up. He rushed to close the distance between him and the scene. He needed a new job.

* * *

One tends to become used to strange things when in the company of Sherlock Holmes. Dr. John Watson was no exception to this rule. At this point, John thought that he saw more dead bodies outside of war than he ever did in it. He'd been kidnapped then had a bomb strapped to let him. He had been woken up by a screeching violin at three in the morning and open up the fridge for the carton of OJ and found a severed head instead.

It was safe to say that John Watson's bar for what qualified as strange had moved down a couple of clicks, yet he still never expected anything like this. Actually, now they thought about it, it was really rather surprising that this was the first time that he had seen Sherlock get punched considering how much he liked to irritate people. John always anticipated that one of Sherlock's deductions would end this way, but he'd never really expected a punch to fly before Sherlock even said a word. While standing paralyzed with shock, a little voice in the back of his head thought that even Sherlock probably didn't see that coming.

John decided to think back and see if there was anything that cause whoever was to punch Sherlock. Sherlock hadn't said anything yet and his back was to the person, so no rude gesture or comment. She wasn't from any case that they had solved because they interviewed everyone and read their files and he would remember a gorgeous girl like that. John was stumped. One second he was telling Sherlock the man likely regained consciousness after his fall because there was more dust and dirt on the man's fingertips than on his palms while watching the rather stunning twenty-five-year-old woman walk up to them.

Then she says, "Hello _Sweetie_"(1) mockingly and John watched as Sherlock reacted more violently to those two words than any of the serial killers they had faced. Sherlock's already pale complection became ghostly and his eyes wide as he visibly flinched and stiffened. Sherlock stood up from where he was examining the ground and turned in slow motion. Then Sherlock was falling backwards on his bum and clutching his cheek. John rushed over to Sherlock's side ready to defend against more attacks, but, as quickly as it came, her rampage ended leaving her looking still irritated yes but violent no. John thought that D.I. Lastrade and his men must have felt the same because although they looked at each other nervously no one moved to intercept.

It was all rather surreal. Watson figured Sherlock thought so too, because he just stayed lying on the ground, propped up on his elbows, holding his cheek while his face remained carefully blank. The blank face should been the first clue to John that Sherlock knew something that he didn't, again.

Watson decided to jump on the band wagon and watch a conversation that he only half understood like a tennis match. The two stared at each other for a while waiting for the other to break the silence. To the observers' astonishment it was Sherlock who made the first move.

"You're here." Sherlock said. It probably would have sounded monotone to John if he hadn't lived and worked with Sherlock the last three years. But he had so Watson could hear the traces wonder, incredulity, and for some reason sorrow in the statement that was meant more like a question.

John wondered if Looker (as John had dubbed the woman until she stated her name. It was quite obvious she was way out of all of their league) had heard the statement the same way he did. If she did, she gave no indication other than a raised eyebrow. An expression he was much more use to seeing on his flatmate when someone was being 'incredibly stupid'. "The planet Earth is round. What do you know! I can state facts too," she replied without losing any of the previous sarcasm.

Everyone not participating sucked in a breath sharply. The challenge she set was blatant and bold and who in the right mind challenges a Holmes! They simultaneously braced for a new level of acerbic wit and caustic words. Not moving from the floor Sherlock murmured, "You're really here…"

Jaws dropped and brains screamed '_WHO IS THIS WOMAN!' _She had to be something else if her mere presence was enough to throw the great Sherlock Holmes this far off balance. A second eyebrow joined her first. "Really now. Stupidity never really suited you so do stop practicing. It is terribly boring to fight you when you're imitating a doorknob. At least you look like yourself."

Lastrade choked when his brain finally connected Sherlock being Irene's so-called idiot target who chased lights. Sherlock scowled while everyone else tried to understand how Holmes and a stranger switched brains. Mentally he shook himself and drawled, "Me on my worse day is still better than the rest of your trio at their best. At least five times better than Anderson's best. Did I sign the wrong line?"

"No, you didn't sign the wrong bloody line. No, you didn't miss one either. No, it has nothing to do with that. No, he didn't come back. No, they aren't back either. No, there is no new war they're asking you to fight in. No, no one is trying to take his place. No, no one but me and maybe two other people who are on _your _short list of people you trust thought that you might actually be alive in either place. You know damn well why I did. Faking your death, leaving, making everyone think I'm crazy…take your pick. Hell, throw a stone and you're bound to hit something. There are plenty I left off that list!" She was looking at Sherlock the whole time she yelled but noticed the collected flinch on the faking death comment and her voice tinted with disbelief. "You faked your death on them too! You're unbelievable! That should answer the 50 questions that you actually meant in your last one." Looker spat out the last bitter line quietly and tiredly.

Sherlock watched her carefully through her tirade then shook his head slowly. "No, those reasons aren't why you hit me although I probably deserve it for those too. You punched me because you forgave me, but I can't figure out why you forgave me." His face remained carefully blank.

"Stop pouting. For a snake you certainly enjoy playing the martyr. And although you want to know the answer that's not the question you want to ask," The answer made Sherlock lean back on the floor sprawled as if he had been punched again or he was lounging on his favorite couch in 221B. She walked over to where he was laying and stood over his stomach. Then like a puppet who's strings had been cut she collapsed and seemed to take great satisfaction from the whoosh of air and the grunt of pain that came from the man below her. "For that letter. Because I know you Sev." No one else knew what she was referring to or if the question she answered were stated or implied, but he knew and it caused emotions to flicker through Sherlock's eyes and face like John had never seen before until he covered them with the back of his forearm. The two lapsed back into a pensive silence and didn't look like they were going to break it.

Until the woman broke out into hysterical laughter. And sputtered out a quick "Oh God they think your gay with your flatmate or asexual" before she was overcome by giggles again. John choked, Sherlock gave a nearly inaudible moan, the men of Scotland Yard gaped while Donovan yelped "How the hell did she know!" which caused John to choke more.

"Rus haha w-wh-what did hehe I-I-I-I say about pouting?" Looker said while trying to get herself under control. She continued with a roguish grin. "It's elementary. Your entire police force keeps looking back and forth between us with an occasional look to the doctor behind us to see how he is taking our proximity and if he shows jealousy. He," she said with a gentle tap of her knuckles to the man trapped under her, "doesn't trust anyone, well, nearly anyone due to family issues, betrayal, his previous school life, former job as spy, time in black ops, etc. Because of those reasons too he doesn't really care for physical contact either. He does become more affectionate with those few he does trust and considers friends. Out of the entire group, only the doctor has earned this right hence making it seem like a gay relationship. As for the flatmate bit, a certain smell attaches itself to those who are surrounded by science experiments and because I doubt any legitimate building would stand for this idiot's antics the experiments are probably done at home. Both have the same smell both live in the same environment."

John looked around as everyone shifted uncomfortably. Even without understanding more than half of the conversation it still seemed terribly intimate. He couldn't believe he was going to do this. He cleared his throat a little and spoke. "Um…hi? Who are you?"

"Oh right. I forget that not everyone knows who I am," she stated. Sherlock snorted below her and earned another light slap to his arm for the trouble.

"What name are you going by now Hermes?" Sherlock asked while peeking out from under his arm.

"Irene, Sev"

"Sherlock, Renie" he replied back mockingly, but more in a playful fashion than to be cutting like at the beginning of the conversation. Pulling his arm away from his face completely he said in a slightly harder more strained tone, "There you go. Mystery of your tiny universe solved. Her name is Irene Adler."

Irene's lip twitched, but she replied looking down at the gold chain that fell out of Sherlock's shirt when she punched him, "Not quite. I am married and you would know that if you didn't run away." John was sure that only he and Irene noticed the flashes of pain, heartache and panic that crossed Sherlock's face before they were slammed back behind the emotionless sociopath mask few saw through.

Irene reached a hand up to her neck and pulled out a platinum ring with a decent size diamond with mystic fire topazes set next to it held it place with a gold chain.

Sherlock's mind went completely blank. He oogled the ring then looked up at her face as she lovingly looked down at the ring and he went back and forth between the two several times. He tried to speak. Really he did and ended up looking like an inarticulate fool. "I…You…I…that is… wha-huh?"

Irene chuckled good naturedly and gave him a tender smile and spoke softly so that only John and he could hear. "I knew within hours of you 'dying' from Nagini that something wasn't right. You knew the war was coming to a climax and were always prepared. From my position for the Order, posing as your wife to help you with your job as a spy, I knew you were making yourself immune to a wide spectrum of poisons and always carry emergency first aid potions. You are too bloody brilliant to die that way. Not when you had options.

"I told my suspicions to Harry and he thought it was just my grief talking from being widowed at 17 well really 22 when you take my time-turner experience into account. Needless to say he didn't believe me and didn't bother trying again when I found your stupid bloody letter and the form with your half filled out. You self-sacrificing idiot! There were other ways than marriage for me to be your support and I chose this willingly.

"I learned who you are. I saw through the glamour that made you appear old enough to teach, enter Hogwarts early, and give you the proper appearance to spy. I know who you are and what you are capable of doing and what you have done. And I learned that I love you, your quirks, your triumphs and faults, and that frustratingly stubborn but genius brain of yours. Yes, Severus Snape, Sherlock Holmes, whoever _you_ call yourself, you filled out all the right lines on the form, but I did not nor did I turn it in to the Ministry because your letter read that you loved me, but knew that I couldn't feel the same so you were setting me free. And I've been hunting your sorry martyring arse down ever since for the last four or five years. Hugh and you call us Gryffs melodramatic. So…um…now that you know, will you keep me or have you moved on and it's my turn to set you free?"

Sherlock gave a strangled laugh that sounded like a borderline sob just as quietly as Irene's monologue having to push it out past the rather larger lump in his throat. "Like you even need to ask you silly Gryffindor. You are the Granger know-it-all after all and sweet Circe I love you for it."

While the two were quietly having their "moment" the whispers between the members of Scotland Yard grew steadily louder. John was multitasking. The bigger part of his brain was with his flatmate (friend? Did Sherlock have those?) and immensely happy for him. John picked out words that he knew he would need the other two to explain once they remembered that they weren't the only people in the world. He was pretty sure some things like Hogwarts, black ops, and Severus Snape weren't supposed to have been overheard and he would have to wait until they got back to Bakers Street before he got answers.

The other minor part was listening to the restless gossip on the other side of them. Murmurs of confusion spread. 'Who was she?', 'How did she know the freak?' and 'Are they ever getting off the ground?' were only some of the questions flying around. John shook his head. He was finally starting to see why Sherlock called them stupid all the time. Anyone looking at them could see how soft and relaxed Sherlock looked and he _never _did content before.

Finally John got tired of waiting and cleared his throat at the same time that Donovan's voice cut through saying "What is her name then?"

Sherlock gave a self-satisfied look to Irene (Granger?) then glanced at Donovan. "Her name is Irene Holmes you moron. A consulting thief." Then under his breath he cursed and said that he was going to owe Mycroft another favor while the force's jaws dropped again.

She just laughed. And said just as quietly, "Really Sev are you a wizard or what. Plus it wouldn't be the first time I broke into a government building. I'll ask Harry for his cloak. Although, I probably should meet your fake brother to officially join the family." Then louder she said while slapping his arm, "I am no thief Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I only broke into a bank once and that was extenuating circumstances and I'm not even sure if it counts because it was Gringotts."

Sherlock did something that no one had seen before. He broke into a rolling baritone laugh which lowered into a genuine smile. Donovan looked confused. "So she's your sister? Great another Holmes we have to deal with."

Both Sherlock and Irene made a face and John burst out laughing. Irene then stated, "Did you already forget the half hour of your life where Sher here first called me Irene Adler and I said not quite because I was married? Sherlock," she said dead serious, "are their heads filled with donuts too and not just their guts?" John and Sherlock looked at each other and grinned slightly madly. Oh this was going to be _interesting_.

Lastrade looked between the three and sighed. "Who the hell is crazy enough to marry Mycroft?"

John and Irene burst out laughing again and Sherlock lifted an eyebrow as if to say _and-your-the best-the-Queen-could do._ "The world must be a fascinating place to your pea-sized brain. No, she is my wife hence the 'asexual thing' as you stated before."

She gave a manic grin as she stated in a sing-song manner, "Which makes me 10 times crazier than Mycroft's fictional wife and just as genius as the man I married."

"And just as humble," John piped in. He offered Irene a hand to help her get up which she took graciously.

"Thanks. Afganistan or Iraq? And thank you." She said once she was righted while Sherlock went to Lastrade to explain who the killer was.

"You're welcome? How did yo-… right. You're a Holmes. No other explanation needed. What was the second than you for?"

Irene looked over at her husband (Merlin how she enjoyed saying that) with a sad smile. "That man is extremely self-deprecating and self-conscious even though he doesn't look it. That's why he acts like a sociopath. It is his defense mechanism. He thinks that behaving in the worse way will set up barriers between himself and others. That way he will never have to worry about getting hurt by someone else because no one else would be close enough to hurt him."

"That…" John said slowly thinking that explanation through, "that makes a surprising amount of sense."

"Of course it does." She scoffed. "Providing he is still mostly the same as he was back then, he probably invited you out on a case right off the bat so you would understand exactly what you were getting yourself into. He probably wouldn't have even offered for you to live with him if you weren't an injured soldier which is why I asked Iraq or Afghanistan rather than checking your haircut, gait or calluses like Sherlock would have done.

"Sherlock trusted you a great deal from the get strictly because of what you were. Doctor means you are morally sound, value life and have a certain amount of perseverance and emotional understanding for 'damaged goods' as Sherlock would label himself. Soldier implies tenacity, fortitude, and strength while the fact that you were injured means you wouldn't shy away from any danger or enemies he may bring home by being a consulting detective and you are immensely loyal. The fact that he has loosened up around you and gets frustrated when you don't quite reach the has great expectations he has for you means he respects you a lot and more importantly trusts you almost implicitly to have his back. So, again thank you for keeping him together and being his friend whether he admits it or not."

John didn't think he could say anything as he saw Sherlock walking back to them so he didn't. He just smiled and nodded to her. Then tilted his head and said, "You realize this isn't going to get you two out of explaining everything right?"

She raised up on her tip-toes to give Sherlock a peck on his cheek before wrapping her arm around his waist. "Damn. Well, it was worth a shot. Let's go home and we can tell you the story there. Oh by the way Sher, you have to stop hating on Harry. He named his second child after you, you know."

Things definitely looked like they were getting better at 221B, but John thought that he was just going to leave this whole case off of his blog. Especially that wizard bit.

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Author's Note: Ok that's it. The end of my little plot bunny. If anyone has any questions feel free to ask and correct anything that's wrong because I'm sure that there is. Thanks for reading! Review if you want (Please! Please! It would make me happy!) but don't feel obligated.


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